Recovering
by MystryGAB
Summary: What would have happened if Cuddy had realized she'd acted rashly when she broken up with House in Bombshells and had come to her senses. What if she had been the one, instead of Wilson, to show up at the hotel room during Out of the Chute?
1. Chapter 1

_Usually I write stories for friends from prompts or images or ideas they toss as me. This one is for me. I've always wondered what would have happened if Cuddy had realized she'd acted rashly when she broken up with House in Bombshells and had come to her senses. What if she had been the one, instead of Wilson, to show up at the hotel room during Out of the Chute?_

_This will only be a few chapters long, but I hope will go deep. It does in my head. I hope you enjoy._

_Disclaimer: I obviously am not connected with the show, the creators or the writing team. I'm just borrowing the characters._

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

"Who are you?"

Cuddy pushed passed the scantily clad woman and boldly stepped into the room.

"Hey!" The woman called out. "You can't come in here."

"Watch me," Cuddy grumbled, tossing her purse on the nearest and ignoring the objections as the woman followed her into the bedroom area of the hotel suite.

House froze when he saw her, unable to move or speak, barely able to think as her eyes quickly scanned the room before landing on him with a hardened stare.

_Oh, Hell._

His head started spinning and his stomach clenched as he fought the nausea washing over him.

"Who do you think you are?" the woman cried

Cuddy didn't acknowledge the woman as she intensely studied House. He was sprawled out on the bed, a sheet loosely draped over him. His beard was thick, his hair mussed, his eyes wide and dilated. He was stoned, and sexy as hell, in spite of his condition…and the situation. The fact her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him – even when she was so frustrated and hurt and disgusted – only further infuriated her. She refused to cave into the emotions. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"I'm the girlfriend," Cuddy finally said, forcing her jaw to move against the tension she was placing on it.

House noted her voice was steady and controlled. He resented that control; he hated the ease in which she slipped into that frosty mask and cloaked herself in such an impenetrable shield. He'd been sucked into a tempest of spiraling pain, and she whisked around totally unmoved by it all: by the situation, by the break-up, by him. She'd decimated him; she'd walked out, taking everything that mattered to him, and didn't look back. Not once. She went back to work the next day as if nothing had happened. But he'd been a total wreck, barely able to function. He'd finally imploded beneath the pressure, disintegrated into a mass of ash and debris. Maybe it was the relapse, or maybe it was the fact his heart had been ripped from his chest and pounded with a splintered two by four, but he was numb. Lifeless. He was dead. At least he'd thought that until she'd stepped through the door.

She stood there looking so focused, efficient…so beautiful. He hated that he noticed it, hated that his heart beat a little faster and he couldn't take his eyes off her. He hated that she had such power of him, hated that he was so pathetic.

"Ex-girlfriend," he corrected as he glared bitterly at her.

Cuddy turned away and faced the woman: a prostitute obviously. At least she was on the higher end of the spectrum. Not that it mattered. Not that it changed anything at all. She was still a hooker.

"Get dressed and get out," Cuddy said, her voice an almost deadly calm.

"Oh, shit," Lacy muttered and quickly began gathering her clothes that were scattered on the floor.

"You can stay, Lacy," House said defiantly. His stormy eyes never left Cuddy. "She has no rights here."

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. "Are you sure about that?" she challenged.

Her voice was steady and calm, but her eyes were cold. They cut through him with the efficiency of a scalpel and brutality of a rusted knife. At least he was feeling. He wasn't dead after all. An old familiar beast was awakening from hibernation, dark and ugly. Bitter.

"You'll have to wait your turn," he said as he slowly sat up and leaned against the headboard. "You gave up first dibs to my bed when you decided I wasn't worthy of your perfection."

Cuddy didn't flinch. She'd known him long enough to recognize the venom building on his tongue, the defense mechanism he'd mastered and used with skilled precision. She knew it was only just beginning. He would attack her with every weapon in his arsenal before this was over.

"Unless you're offering a threesome," he said. "I'm totally game for that. Especially if it's on your dime…or hundreds."

Cuddy blinked. House could see the stiffening in her spine and his lip twitched in a bitter grin. She wasn't totally immune to him…yet.

He opened his mouth, prepared with another degrading comment. She stopped him.

"Do you really want to go there?" Cuddy asked. Calm again. Frozen.

"What man wouldn't?" he quickly snapped. "You may be a bitch, but you're still hot. At least from behind. A threesome will work perfectly."

Cuddy squared her stance. If she'd been wearing six shooters he was convinced she'd be ready to draw.

"Is this how you want to play it?" The words barely made it through her clenched teeth.

The heat in her stare should have melted him, but he was drawn to it, a moth to a flame. Powerless. Weak. House felt the bile building in his stomach and throat, the burn of deep seeded resentment rising inside him.

"If you're not up for it, you can just watch." He crossed his arms at his chest and glared at her. "Or leave."

Cuddy stepped forward; her eyes narrowed in warning.

"Be very sure, House," she said. "Because if I walk out that door, you will never get another chance. Never."

House felt her chill, the sting of the icy calm emanating from her. There was something in her tone, an unfamiliar threat and yet one he recognized as lethal. It echoed in the tomb of his soul, and he felt an aching need to grab onto something – anything – to save him from his decent into Hell.

Cuddy saw the shift. It was subtle. It was barely a flicker of light in his dead eyes, but it was there. She felt the relief in the pit of her stomach, more burning than soothing. There was so much acid between them; everything was transfigured and deformed, unrecognizable.

"You need to leave," she said, turning back to the woman – Lacy - who was looking at House for direction.

His eyes never left Cuddy. She was the calm, clear headed, take-charge woman he both loved and hated right now. He wanted to break her, to watch that icy exterior shatter. He wanted her to feel: feel what he felt, hurt like he hurt.

Pain. His old companion was returning with a force. Through the haze of drugs and shock, from the numbing dissociative space where he'd escaped, he was feeling. She did that. She brought life to his tomb. He was alive, resurrected into pain, but alive nonetheless. House felt…hope. But he instinctively understood this was a moment that would determine his future.

"Get out," he commanded. Lacy didn't have to be told twice. She quickly gathered her clothes and carelessly dressed.

House watched as Cuddy reached for the jeans that were draped on the chair in the corner of the room and removed his wallet.

"Here," she said, handing the woman some cash. "Don't come back."

Lacy rushed out, more than anxious to leave.

"You overpaid her," House said when the door closed behind her.

Cuddy didn't answer. She was slipping back behind that cold, hard wall, leaving him alone again, lost and exposed.

"How many did you take?" She asked.

"Why do you care?"

She'd known he'd relapse when she walked out on him. Now she wanted to play the concerned doctor?

Cuddy moved to the side of the bed and picked up the amber bottle. She wasn't going to ask where he got the prescription. She didn't want to know.

"Was it new?" she asked, opening the lid and examining the contents.

"Yes."

_Shit. _Cuddy turned away from his stare, closing her eyes and swallowing the anguish she felt.

There were only four left. It was amazing he hadn't dropped into a coma. This was no small relapse. He'd gone all in; true to form.

"Get up," she said, pushing the bottle toward him. "Go flush it."

They'd have to detox. They'd have to start from scratch. This time with help.

_I'm going to need help._

House watched her processing. He saw the slight movement of her eyes as she assessed the situation and immediately came up with a plan. The leader taking charge. The problem-solver. The administrator in action.

The woman was nowhere to be seen, hidden behind a cloak of focused determination and drive.

_Go flush it._ She was demanding and bossy, and annoying.

"Come on," she said. "You need to flush them."

She was already developing a plan in her head: a step-by-step guide to managing House in crisis. She had established the threat, assessed the risk, and come up with a plan in a matter of seconds. He recognized this Cuddy, had seen her in action all too often over the years. He could anticipate her moves, could almost predict her words, but he couldn't read her. He had no idea what she was thinking, what she was feeling about him. About them. It was as if the conduit that had connected them, the invisible wire that transmitted internal data with force and clarity, was shorted, severed. It was disconcerting

"I hardly think you're in any position to play dictator," he said, latching on to the resentment and anger brewing inside him. He hated the anxiety that gripped him, the panic he felt: hated that he needed her so much, needed that connection. "You dumped me, remember?"

She had no right to come in here and make demands. She'd bailed on him, walked away without a second thought. She didn't have a right to come in here so controlled and unfeeling, telling him…

"Get up now!"

House jumped, startled by the barely concealed fury in her tone.

She was pissed. He felt strangely pleased. He felt a sense of hope, a weak and pathetic optimism that could very well be dirty, dingy trash pushed through a sewer and washed up on a rock. Saved, but from what? For what?

House flung the sheet from his waist and pushed himself off the bed.

She was here. She'd brought him back to life, freed him from his tomb of numbing nothingness, but now he was trapped in the rotting emotions he couldn't even begin to process.

"Is this what you wanted?" he sneered, standing naked before her and stepping into her personal space. He was angry. It was an emotion he could understand, a feeling he knew how to express. "You needed to see again what you were missing? You realized you were walking out on the best fuck you'll ever have?"

He towered over her, threatening and intimidating. She didn't flinch.

"Take the bottle, House," she demanded. "Go flush the pills."

"Why? So you can feel like a superhero, swooping in to save the day?"

"That's your fantasy," she said, her voice beginning to shake with volatile mix of sadness and fury.

"My mistake," he shrugged. "You're no savior. You're just another girl who talks a game of love, but makes damn sure no one will ever meet your standards."

"I'm not going to talk about this, House," she warned.

"I could never be the man you want. You knew that all along."

"This isn't about what I want." She was determined to remain calm, to keep a clear head. She couldn't give in to the emotions that threatened to overtake her.

"No, it's about power and control," he bit back. "And emotional blackmail."

"You're the puppet master, not me." Her words held a bite and she knew she was slipping. She took a deep breath, determined to focus and keep level head.

"Is this what you want?" she asked. "Is this why you brought me here? To call me names? Attack me? To place blame?"

"I didn't bring you here. You came all on your own."

"Because it's what you wanted," she said. "All the drugs and alcohol, not showing up for work…"

"And that's what's really got you worked up," he snapped. "That's I didn't show up for work. I performed a DDX from a hotel bed."

"You wanted me to come, and now I'm here," she wasn't detoured. "You won. Does it make you feel better?"

"Oh, good," he said. "We've moved to the patronizing. Now you can point out how needy and self-destructive I am, while you can feel superior."

"I don't feel superior."

"You don't feel anything."

"I'm not going to fight with you."

"Of course not," he said. "This isn't where we fight. This is where you demand I take responsibility for my actions while you start playing the dictator."

"I'm not a dictator."

"You just want everything your way."

"This is not what I want."

"What do you want?"

"For you to flush these pills."

"And then what?" He leaned toward her. She took a step back. "I declare my undying love for you? Beg you to take me back?"

He took another step toward her, successfully trapping her against the wall. "You should have stayed with Lucas," he snarled. "He was a better pawn for your game."

Cuddy flinched.

"This isn't a game." Her voice trembled; her jaw tightened.

"Oh, right," he snapped his fingers. "He wasn't good in the sack. Poor Cuddy! Can't be happy unless you're in control; can't get off unless…"

"You son of a bitch!" Her hand stopped just before it made impact with his jaw.

House stood stunned; Cuddy gasped. He didn't know who was more shocked. In a flash, she had lost control, given into the emotions he hadn't believed she'd been hiding. He was sucked into the storm of her grey eyes and they sliced at him with anger, guilt and grief.

"Is that what you want?" she asked. "For me to slap you?"

She released an almost hysterical laugh, side stepping him and moving away from the wall.

"You want me to punish you so you can feel better about yourself." She pushed her fingers through her hair as she tried to gain some control, some perspective. He felt the frustration rise.

"Now you're going to psycho-analyze? That's just great."

"Fuck you, House," she said. "I'm not feeding your pathology. That's not why I'm here."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because you need me," she snapped. "And I know what it's like to need someone and wait endlessly for them to show up. I know what it feels like when they don't."

House recoiled. The shame and anguish he'd been denying crashed down on him. He was helpless beneath the weight.

"I was there," he whispered.

Cuddy sighed. He was there; he was just high.

"You hurt me," she said.

"You hurt me back."

She stared at him, mouth agape.

"Seriously? That's your response?" She shouldn't be surprised. "You didn't even give me a chance to recover before you jumped into an orgy."

House could see past her bravado, beyond the anger and control. For the first time since she'd walked through the door, he could read her, could see the vulnerability she was frantically fighting hide, to overcome. Her shoulders were slumped and her skin was pale. She was tired, physically weak and emotionally spent. And she was here.

"You broke up with me," he said defensively, reflexively.

She stared at him with eyes glistening from unshed tears. She looked fragile and broken. House felt the oxygen drain from his lungs.

"You won, House. You got me. With your hookers and your total disregard for everything we shared, I'm still here," she said, her voice cracking beneath the pressure. "I'm fighting for you. Something you didn't do for me. But that's all I can do. The rest is up to you. You can flush those pills down the toilet and go wash the stench of that whore off you, or I can leave. But I can't fight with you anymore. I'm too tired."

Whatever rebellion he'd been planning, whatever defensive attack he'd positioned was thwarted. The bitter anger was instantly replaced by a broken, desperate hope.

"You want to save this?" his voice quivered; his eyes became glassy and red-rimmed. His face was bared of all masks and façade and he gazed at her with raw emotion.

"I need you."

House felt dizzy. And determined.

He bent to pick up the bottle she had inadvertently dropped on the floor between them. Cuddy watched as he cautiously and tentatively limped to the bathroom. He was naked, totally bare and broken. She wanted to be angry, angry that he'd hurt her, that he'd betrayed her in so many ways. Instead she felt the warmth of love surrounding her. What a fool she was.

She pulled her cell phone from her back pocket and scrolled through the names as she followed House into the bathroom. He flushed the pills down the toilet and tossed the empty bottle into the trash before turning to look at her.

"Hey, it's me," she said into the phone. It was Wilson. He didn't have to ask. "I'm at the hotel."

House turned to start the shower. She wanted him to sober up; he wanted to wake up. He wanted the past few days to be a dream.

He gripped his thigh as he turned the hot water nozzle to a higher setting. He wanted the pain to stop. He wanted to be free. He wanted…

"It's bad," she said as she turned back into the bedroom. "I'm going to need some supplies. Can you get them for me?"

House stared at his reflection in the mirror, gripped the vanity with his fists as he leaned against it for support.

"I don't know," he could hear her voice through the door. She was frustrated and impatient. "I don't have time to worry about me right now and I can't take another lecture. Believe me, I hate myself enough. Just do this for me, please. He won't make it through a detox without it."

She was just days out of the hospital and instead of taking the time she needed to heal, she was rescuing him.

_Do you think I can fix myself? The_ words haunted him.

He hadn't even tried.

House stepped into the shower to drown out her voice. He needed to wash away more than the "stench of that bitch" as she'd so eloquently put it. He needed to wash away the filth of shame and self-loathing he felt. House was pretty sure he'd need more than water for that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part One: Three Days**

**Chapter 1: Truth**

"Is this how it's going to be?" House asked.

When he woke up, he'd found her on the balcony having a cup of coffee – if that's what you could call it – from the pot she'd made with the complimentary packets in the kitchenette area. She was dressed in her yoga clothes, her hair bound in a ponytail, her face free of make-up. She obviously hadn't skipped her morning ritual. She'd somehow managed to stretch and pose even though she'd barely slept at all that night. He knew that for a fact because he hadn't slept either. He'd been going over everything in his head, reliving the past few months, analyzing the past few hours. She'd tossed and turned, paced and meditated; he'd sifted through data, remembering every word and expression as he searched for answers.

He'd finally decided to soak in the tub, thinking it would relax him, maybe even dull the growing ache in his thigh and get ahead of the pain. It was an exercise in futility. The next few days would be torture for him. Each relapse and corresponding detox brought new demons and magnified pain. It was the nature of the beast. He couldn't escape it.

The sun had only just risen when he joined her at the small café table. He'd poured himself a cup of the bilge water she'd made and sipped from it as he propped his bare feet on the rail in front of him. She hadn't acknowledged him. She'd continued to stare into the horizon, holding her mug in both hands close to her chest just under her chin. The golden hue of morning formed an angelic glow around her and he couldn't take his eyes off her. He'd been staring at her profile for the past ten minutes, mesmerized. She hadn't moved, hadn't said a word. He was invisible to her.

"We're going to be locked in here for the next few days and you're going to give me the silent treatment?"

Cuddy slowly turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were tired and empty. His chest tightened and the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach seemed to expand.

"I don't know," she finally said. "I never learned the proper protocol for sitting vigil through a detox with your ex. I'm kinda out of my element here."

_Ex. _Those two little letters hurt worse than the growing ache in his leg.

"You seemed so confident last night," he pointed out. "And less of an ex."

While he'd been in the shower, she'd called housekeeping and had them change all the linens and provide a large supply of towels and wash cloths. She'd also contacted the front desk and made arrangements for meal deliveries. Wilson had come with IV fluids, nausea, diarrhea and cold meds, a couple of ice packs, a heating pad and some other miscellaneous things she'd requested, as well as an overnight bag her sister had packed for her.

"Julia wasn't very happy," Wilson had told her. House was listening from the bedroom.

"She's furious."

"She's worried."

"I know," Cuddy had sighed. "She was there the night I broke up with him."

House could imagine there was some unspoken conversation passing between them in the pause that followed, and he didn't like it. So he stepped into the room, effectively shutting down their silent dialogue.

"I brought you some clothes too," Wilson said to him. "I wasn't sure if you'd brought enough with you."

"I didn't bring any," he said, gesturing to the hotel robe he was wearing. "I was planning to be naked.

Cuddy closed her eyes, her cheeks turning pallor before she picked up the bag of supplies and disappeared into the bedroom.

House gulped, silently berating himself.

_I'm fighting for you. Something you didn't do for me. _Her words continued to taunt him.

"You could at least try to be human, House," Wilson said. "She's here for you."

"She shouldn't be." House sighed and sank down onto the loveseat. "She should be taking care of herself, not nursing me."

Wilson only gave a brief pause before dropping onto the seat beside him.

"Wow. At least you see that."

"She only just got out of the hospital."

"I'm glad you remembered."

"Are you trying to be annoying, or is this the new you?"

"The fact you can get your head out of your ass long enough to see she's still recovering from surgery and should be resting gives me hope."

"I don't know who's more pathetic," House said. "Me or you."

"She loves you."

"I don't deserve it."

"Probably not," Wilson agreed. "Everyone has their vices. You're ours."

House turned to glare at him. "Is that supposed to be encouraging?"

"No, but it's true," he said. "It's why you chose us."

"Because your delusions of discernment and adequacy are only surpassed by your masochism?"

"Wilson shifted in his seat and leveled him with a stare. "Because we are loyal."

"Humph," House crossed his arms at his chest and began to sulk. "And destined to leave when I finally get my shit together?"

Wilson shook his head and grinned.

"You're not that lucky," he said. "And if that's been your plan - to self-destruct at every turn to ensure we stick around - you may want to consider a new strategy."

House stared intently at the space in front of him. Wilson knew he wasn't seeing anything. He was withdrawing, battling the demons of self-hate that had found their abode deep inside him.

"It's not easy for her either, you know," he went on, hoping his friend was hearing him. It was a hit or miss at times with House. "You've both been through a lot."

"You told me to do what I needed to do to be there for her," House said. Surprisingly, it wasn't an accusation. There wasn't a bite to his tone, just a deep sadness he hadn't seen in House the entire time he'd been with Cuddy. Still, Wilson felt defensive…and guilty.

"She was scared," he said. "She needed you, not your team."

"I know."

"She kept waiting for you, believing you'd show up," he went on. "She didn't believe you'd let her down."

"I know."

"Do you know how happy she was when you finally came? Do you have any idea how much…"

"I know!" House snapped. "Where was all this concern when I was falling apart? When I couldn't think of anything but what might be wrong with her? What might be killing her? All I could think about was how to save her! But I couldn't save her! The one time she really needed me and I was helpless, a complete failure."

"Which is why you just needed to be there with her," Wilson bit back. "You were keeping your distance so you could think clearly, but she needed you to…"

"I told you I suck at comfort and support."

"And I told you to figure it out," Wilson pushed himself off the loveseat and glared down at House. "You think the only thing you offer of any value is your medical genius? You think that's the only thing she could really need from you?"

_I need you. _House growled and pushed his fingers roughly through his hair in frustration. She'd needed him. She said she still needed him. How could he ever be what she needed?

"She's happy with you, House," Wilson continued. "Even when you're being an ass and at your worse, she genuinely likes being with you. All you had to do was show up."

"I did."

"You were stoned."

"I took one pill. One pill! I was hardly stoned," he argued. "And it was no more than you'd give some family member of one of your patients."

"I would give them anti-anxiety meds, not Vicodin."

"For anxiety, not pain."

"You lived without Vicodin for a year and a half, House," Wilson said. "This isn't about pain, it's about addiction."

_Everything you've ever done is to avoid pain._

House felt the tension that had been tightening in him for days finally snap. "I'm in pain!" he yelled, gripping his thigh and awkwardly standing to face Wilson in full attack mode. "I'm an addict, but I'm also in pain. I'm always in pain. I realize some of it is psychosomatic. I'm not an idiot. I can ignore it when I'm happy. I can ignore it when I'm with her because there's something good and perfect to hold onto. There's something worth fighting for. But that doesn't mean it's not there! Why is that so fucking hard for everyone to understand? It's a law of physics. The more pressure you put on something, the weaker it gets. The pain gets worse when my life is worse."

"She knows you're in pain."

"No," he spit it out. "She forgets. Just like you. She told me as much. She forgets. You forget. Everyone forgets! In all my neediness and co-dependence and emotional damage, with a limp and a disgusting scar in my thigh, you all forget. I AM A CHRONIC PAIN PATIENT."

"I need to go speak to the front desk." Both House and Wilson whirled around, startled by the interruption.

Cuddy stood in the entry, her eyes red and swollen with unshed tears, her skin pale.

"Are you okay?" Wilson quickly asked, rushing over to her in concern.

"Can you stay for a bit?" she stepped away from him and avoided the question.

"Of course," he said. "But…"

House was jarred from his thoughts by a knock at the door.

"That will be room service," Cuddy said, standing and stepping over his legs as she slipped into the room. She returned to the balcony a few minutes later carrying a food tray.

"What level is your pain?" She asked while she organized the breakfast items on the small table.

"Manageable," House shrugged.

"A number, House," she gently chastised. She had noticed him favoring his leg more than usual when he'd joined her on the balcony. "You know the deal."

House rolled his eyes and took a swallow of coffee.

Cuddy stopped what she was doing and turned to look at him, studying him for signs and symptoms that would indicate how deep he was in the initial withdrawal stages.

"Six," he finally said.

Cuddy nodded. He wasn't sure if she was agreeing with him or accepting his answer.

"You should eat something while you can."

"You mean before I start puking my guts out and wishing for death."

"I was hoping to bypass the vivid imagery until after breakfast," she snipped. "But we do need to get an IV started on you. It will be better for you to be fully hydrated before it gets much worse."

House waited until she'd disappeared into the room before reaching for a croissant. Now she was talking. She was "Cuddy- the-caregiver," aloof and distant, taking charge and managing everything again, but she was talking. It was enough. For now. Any interaction was an opportunity at this point, a chance to find a chink in her armor, to break through the wall she'd erected. He needed time create a strategy, to plan his next move.

_This isn't a game, House. _Wilson had been so adamant when he'd talked to him last night. He was so certain Cuddy would forgive him if he'd just talk to her._Let her in, House. Give her a chance to deal with that almighty truth you believe in._

She returned with the supplies and Cuddy noted he had prepared a croissant with butter and blackberry jam. It was plated on her side of the table. He hadn't bothered picking anything from the tray for himself. He was too busy moving the butter knife between his fingers, solving a puzzle no doubt. She had a feeling it was the same puzzle she'd been working through all morning.

House turned to look at her, watching as she tied the elastic band around his arm and began to work on the IV. Her touch was gentle and steady. His eyes were intense and probing. He wanted to get in her mind, to read her thoughts and know her feelings. He wanted to understand what to say and do. He wanted to know how to repair what had broken between them.

"I'm not confident." Her soft words silenced his thoughts. Their eyes locked. "A captain never shows doubt or fear when the ship is going down."

House knew she was responding to his earlier comment, but he was afraid she may be revealing even more.

"We're sinking?"

She gathered the wrappers and debris from the IV supplies, crushing them in her hand before whispering. "It feels like it."

His eyes narrowed. "Now? Or before?"

"I put it on a slow drip," she explained as she nervously adjusted the IV line. "The pole will be annoying to roll around, but better in the long run." He didn't care about the damn IV.

"You felt like we were sinking?"

Cuddy sighed and moved to sit in the chair at the other side of the table.

"I always felt like we were just on the verge of imploding."

A searing pain shot up his neck and through his skull to his temple.

"So you tried to steer away from the danger?"

She didn't answer. She didn't have to. He'd felt it too. He'd acquiesced and apologized and submitted to every rule she'd given in his own attempt to prevent what seemed to be an inevitable crash.

Cuddy unrolled her silverware and placed the napkin on her lap before taking a bite of the croissant he'd prepared.

"Do we have a chance?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said. "I don't have the answers."

It wasn't what he wanted to hear. It wasn't what he wanted to feel: this sense of loss, the powerlessness, the nausea. It was nerves more than the detox, but she was right. He needed to get something on his stomach now.

House reached for a cheese danish. He was pretty sure she'd specifically requested them. She hated them; they were his favorites.

"I told you I'd do horrible things to you," he grumbled. "It was only a matter of time before you realized it was a mistake."

Cuddy paused. "You think it was a mistake?"

"Don't you?"

_I thought I could do this._ He'd felt the sting of her words; the pain he'd felt when she walked out that door was greater than any he'd experienced. He hadn't been able to hide it or deny it; nothing would stop it. He'd finally just shut down, slipped into a kind of dissociative pain coma: a member of the walking dead.

"No."

House stared at her, baffled by her quick response. "But…"

"I couldn't handle it," she explained. "But I'll never regret being with you."

It was like Stacy all over again. The I-love-you-but-I-can't-be-with-you syndrome.

"Let me guess," he said. "You felt alone with me."

He'd thought it would be different with Cuddy. He thought she understood him on a fundamental level.

Cuddy frowned, clearly befuddled by this words. "No," she contradicted him. He still felt the dark shadows surrounding him, threatening him.

"I just wasn't enough." He dropped the pastry onto the dish and fell against the back of the chair.

"I never said that," she said. His voice was almost an echo, resounding from somewhere deep inside his soul, and it put her on guard. She didn't know where this was leading, but was certain she was following him into dangerous waters.

He crossed his arms over his chest, an angry scowl forming on his forehead.

"You didn't have to," he said. "You needed to see if we would work. We didn't. Your grand experiment failed."

"Don't do this," Cuddy sighed.

"Do what? Point out the obvious?" He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. "I couldn't even begin to fix myself and you couldn't tolerate a less than the perfect boyfriend. I was an idiot to even try."

"I know you're hurt, but there's no need to revise history," she said.

"There's no revision needed. The truth speaks for itself."

"I was happy with you," she said. "That's the truth."

"Evidenced by the amount of nitpicking and complaining you did," he said.

"I didn't nitpick…"

"Toilet seat," his head quickly turned and he caught her eyes in a bitter glare. "Toothbrush."

Cuddy stilled. "We talked about that," she said. "Expecting a little consideration is hardly nitpicking."

"Oh that's right! I didn't take out the trash, which logically means I don't care about you."

"Those are pretty normal arguments for couples, House. It's not the reason we split up."

"Of course not!" he snapped. "I screwed up. I always screwed up. You just turned to clichés and trite excuses for a reason to lock me out of your house. That way you didn't have to deal with the fact you crawled into bed with a man who would never be your Prince Charming."

"I didn't want Prince Charming," she said sharply, feeling the ire rising in spite of her determination to remain calm. "I wanted you."

"Bullshit!"

Cuddy flinched at the rancor in his tone and sat back in the chair, unconsciously putting additional space between them.

"From the day we met I was a jerk," he said. "It was part of the reason you were hot for me."

"Yes, that's what it was," she responded sarcastically.

"You've got terrible taste in men."

"What? So you're my mother, now?"

"For once she's right."

"Screw you," she snapped.

"You already did!" he bit back. "I should have seen it coming. Sex is always a weapon, but when you start intentionally using it…"

"I didn't use sex as a weapon," she said defensively. But there was woundedness in his tone that had her considering his words, weighing his version of events against her own.

"Oh, please," he rolled his eyes. "You were like a sexual goddess. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away."

"I never…"

"You blessed me when I did something good and cursed me when I didn't."

Cuddy sank into the chair, mortified.

"Go ahead," he said. "Tell me where I'm wrong." He turned to rest his elbows on the table, challenging her to prove him wrong.

Her mind was reeling, her stomach turning. House had turned a mirror on her and she didn't like the reflection staring back at her.

"That's not fair." It was a weak argument. It wasn't an argument at all. "I wasn't using sex as a tool. I was hurt and afraid. I was trying to build something, but you kept…"

"What?" he interrupted. "Breaking the rules? Lying? Cheating? Generally pissing everyone off?"

"Exactly."

"I've been doing that for years."

"And I've put up with it," she pointed out.

"Until you had me locked in your thighs." His outrage was intensifying as the frustration he'd kept so tightly sealed found an outlet. "Once I'd entered the promised land, I should have been healed. Miraculously healed from my screwed up life. Hallelujah!"

"Don't be crude."

"Nothing about sex with you is crude," he said. "To be fair, if anything could save me, that thing you do with…"

"This is all about sex?" Cuddy snapped. "You couldn't be there for me because I wasn't your ready fuck every time you wanted it? Is that what you're saying?"

She threw the napkin onto the table and glared at him resentfully.

"I was an idiot to think we could ever have a real relationship," she went on. "All you care about is easy access to a crotch. Any one will do because you're incapable of..."

It was like red to a bull. House felt a violent rage come over him, an overwhelming need to defend what they shared, to protect the one perfect thing he'd had in his life.

"We were more than sex! Don't try to demean what's between us!"

She was undaunted. "Isn't that just the pot calling the kettle…"

"You were EVERYTHING to me!" House shouted, slamming his fist on the table as he glared at her. "You were the one that got me, that knew me better than anyone! You understood me, and that's why I trusted you. That's why I gave it a chance. I trusted you!"

He was trembling and the sweat was dripping from his brow. Cuddy had grown pale.

"I couldn't do anything right," he vehemently said. "Everything we'd built over the years was totally negated. You doubted every move I made and questioned every motive. You had to control everything."

House leaned heavily on the table, gripping the edges so tightly his knuckles became white. He was fiercely shaking his head as he continued: "I couldn't follow the rules and I paid the price. I always pay the price."

"House?" Cuddy whispered, reaching out to touch his hand. It was cold and clammy.

"It's better not to care," he pulled his hand from hers and pushed it through his hair, lost in a dark thought she felt certain encompassed more than their relationship. "I know better. I know better than to show any weakness."

"Maybe we should shelf this conversation for the time being," she suggested. It was very likely the withdrawal was worsening and exacerbating an already explosive situation.

His eyes were wide and wild when he looked at her.

"I lied to you to save a patient and you kicked me out for three days." It was clearly an accusation.

"You lied to me," she sounded petulant to her own ears.

"To save a patient."

"We went over this," she said. "It wasn't about using sex to control you. It was about trust."

"You didn't trust me."

"You lied! People in relationships don't lie."

"Why?" he challenged. "You know me. You know I'd only lie to you if telling the truth would prevent a patient from getting help or if the truth would get you in some kind of trouble."

He was circling back to this topic for a reason. There was something he needed her to know, something he needed her to understand. She tried to put aside her thoughts and feelings, to listen intently and consider his words.

"We've worked with this perfect dysfunctional balance for years. Why did that suddenly have to change? Why did I suddenly have to tell you the truth?" he asked.

Cuddy frowned, but he pushed on. "Do you really think I didn't consider you when I was making the decision?" he asked. "You don't think I know what your guilt and my anger would do to us if that patient had died because of some bureaucratic bullshit we could have easily worked around?"

"You should have talked to me," she insisted. "You should have trusted me to…"

"Go against the board? To needlessly put yourself on the line and risk your career? Again? For me?"

"You weren't protecting me," she argued "You wanted to protect YOU!"

Even as she passionately argued the point, she was starting to doubt her reasoning.

House paused a beat before responding.

"Because I'm selfish and will always choose me first."

His words stung. She had said that to him that fateful night when she'd broken up with him, when he'd begged her not to leave.

_No. No. Don't. Please don't._

House seemed to deflate, all the passion and indignation vanishing into a haze of defeat.

"Things are always so black and white with you," he mumbled. He was fidgeting, nervously moving his leg as his hand ran along his thigh. His muscles were starting to ache, his head was pounding, and he was becoming convinced there would be no saving their relationship. She was here. She would save him – again – but he'd end up alone. He'd always be alone.

"It's not that way for me," he continued sadly. Cuddy noticed a crack in his voice and the flush creeping up his neck. "Everything is grey."

This wasn't the first time she'd heard him say this.

_You see things as they are and how they could be._

House stood, gripping the IV pole for support as he stared down at her.

"I can't ignore the truth just to reach some idealized vision of what could be," he said. "I can't change the truth. Even for you."

As he disappeared into the room, leaving her alone on the balcony, Cuddy felt a tear roll down her cheek.

* * *

><p>House didn't know how long he'd been lying there. He was curled up on the bed in a loose fetal position. His leg was pounding, he fluctuated between chills and fever, and his head felt like it would explode at any minute. That was nothing compared to the weight in his chest.<p>

He was afraid. Afraid of the pain. Afraid of a life without her.

House felt the mattress shift and opened his eyes.

"Hi," she said, and slipped into bed beside him.

Cuddy turned her back to him, curling against him and taking his arm, wrapping it around her as she held his hand to her chest. House didn't hesitate. He pulled her against him, snuggling closer and holding her tight like a lifeline.

She was quiet. He didn't know what she was thinking. He didn't know why she was here in his arms, but he relished it. He breathed her in, memorizing her smell, the feel of her body against him, the softness of her fingers entwined with his.

"Julia was always the perfect child," Cuddy said after a few minutes. "Mom always favored her. It didn't matter how good I did in school, how many awards I received, how many competitions I won, Julia was always the one who got the attention."

House lightly moved his chin along her shoulder as he listened to her talk.

"Dad tried to compensate," she said. "He always encouraged me to do better, to take the more challenging classes, to fight a little harder to be the best. But he liked Julia better too."

House looked at her, surprised. He'd always assumed she was a daddy's girl.

"He appreciated my mind," she answered his unspoken question. "He respected me in some ways, but he loved Julia. She was soft and demure. The proper little lady."

House kissed her just beneath the ear. "You're parents are stupid."

Cuddy chuckled, but continued her story. "I learned the best way to get their attention was to solve a problem," she said. "I was always good at organizing, and taking charge."

"You mean bossing people around?"

"It takes years to master that skill," Cuddy grinned.

"You have a Ph.D."

"Shut up," she elbowed him in the stomach, but nestled deeper into his embrace. "Whenever I felt afraid or alone, I'd find things to organize or fix. Things around the house and with mom's charity work. They would be impressed and brag about me to their friends. Sometimes mom would even hug me…People needed me, and for a little while I felt like a mattered."

House understood the feeling. It was why he'd become infatuated it the Baraku. Being needed always trumped social class and rules and propriety.

"I still do that when I'm afraid," she whispered, and House stopped breathing. "When things feel out of control and I don't know what to do, I fix."

Cuddy looked over her shoulder at him, her grey eyes glassy and cloudy with raw emotion. "I didn't mean to make you feel like you weren't enough," she said. "I was just afraid."

"Of me?" His voice was thick and raspy.

"Of losing you," she said. "On paper, we're pretty screwed up."

"You're reading the wrong manuals," he said. "In reality, we're almost perfect."

Cuddy smiled and turned in his arms, her eyes locking with his in an intense, piercing stare.

"I want this to work," she said.

House began to breathe again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2: Revelations**

Cuddy wiped his brow with a cold wash cloth as House collapsed back against the bathtub. He'd had his head in the toilet for the past hour, puking out the contents of his stomach and what felt like half the lining of his esophagus.

"It's time for anti-nausea meds." She spoke softly as she ran the fabric along his temple and down his jaw. "You don't have to play a tough guy."

"Your idea of a tough guy is one who drowns in his own vomit?"

She gave his arm a gentle squeeze before standing. "I'll be right back."

House closed his eyes and concentrated on taking deep breaths. The pain was becoming unbearable. For a while, he'd been able to push through the body aches and the familiar stabbing pain in his thigh, but the headache affected his vision and hearing, which gnawed at his patience. The abdominal spasms had increased, followed by the mind-spinning nausea. He couldn't sit still for the muscle aches, but couldn't move for the altered equilibrium. He'd quickly moved from testy to rude; she'd gone from understanding to guarded.

She'd talked about giving him Suboxone for a quick detox. He'd pointed out the risks and suggested it was a good way for her to get away with killing him. She'd suggested Buprenorphrine to slowly move him back into sobriety and maybe bypass the pain. He'd told her such a stupid comment proved how incompetent she was as a doctor. She'd even tried to discuss Natrexone and a few other similar options with him, but they'd only provided more opportunities for him to spitefully mock her. The hostility had been unnecessary, and certainly unwarranted. He'd seen the hurt in her eyes, felt her withdrawing; it had fueled his frustration and anger. Their connection was tenuous at best. He was afraid they wouldn't survive the detox.

"Here," she said, handing him a cup of hot tea before sitting down beside him on the floor and preparing his arm to receive the medication.

"You sure you don't want me to bend over?"

"Always," she said. "But I'll hold off kicking your ass until you're recovered."

"I suspected you had a spanking fantasy."

"You were hoping," she sassed, and tilted her head toward the mug in his hand. "Drink."

House took a sip as he watched her inject the meds and place the band-aid on his arm. A sudden sense of déjà vu came over him.

"You brought me tea the last time, too," he said.

Cuddy gave him a puzzled frown as she re-wrapped the used syringe in the package and tossed it into the trash.

"The hallucination," he explained.

Her eyes momentarily widened in surprise before she sank back down on the floor and faced him.

"I would have, you know?" she said, a cloud of regret and guilt shadowing her eyes. "I would have been there if I'd known."

"_I quit."_

"_Great," she sighed. "My nanny is off the clock at 7:30 so your week off…"_

"_You can go suckle the little bastard child who makes you feel good about yourself."_

"_Screw you."_

He hadn't stopped her from walking away that night in her office. He hadn't told her about the drugs, about Amber. He'd never given her a chance, except in his mind.

"I shouldn't have let you walk out that door." His voice had grown hoarse from the heaving and vomiting, but she could hear the regret in his tone.

Cuddy took his hand in hers and squeezed lightly. "I should have realized you were hiding something."

"It's a little hard to notice anything when you're getting stabbed in your most tender places every time you turn around."

"Well, there's that," she agreed. "Was that the plan? Your way of keeping me in the dark?"

"I don't know," he shrugged.

"You do have a gift."

He nodded, and tilted his head to look at her. "Things always go to shit when I let you walk away."

"LET me walk away?"

"Okay, push you away."

She gave him a piercing look. "You push me away a lot."

"You look for reasons to walk away."

"I don't mean to."

"I don't either."

The air between them was pregnant with memories and emotions. Too bad it didn't distract him from the searing pain in his thigh or the pounding in his head.

"Did you mean it?" he suddenly asked. "You want this to work?"

After the way he'd treated her the past few hours, he was sure she was regretting that admission.

"Yes." Cuddy brought their clasped hands to her lips and kissed his knuckles.

"Could I get one of those on the lips?"

"Not a chance," she released a short, husky chuckle. "You'll need a good sanitizing for that."

His lips slanted in a grin, but his expression was tense and still. She frowned in concern.

"You okay?"

He nodded, but they both knew it was a lie.

"Think you can stand up?"

She knew he was weak and dizzy; she suspected the time spent crouched on the floor and catapulted the pain in his leg from manageable to near excruciating. He was pale with dark circles forming under his eyes. The vein at his temple was as pronounced as the tightening in his jaw.

"I can brush my teeth from down here."

"Change of topic," she corrected. "I'm not talking about your breath, I was thinking more about a hot shower."

"You joining me?"

She stood and stretched her arm out to help him up. "No."

"It won't be hot then."

"You're in no condition for that kind of shower," she smirked. At least she was still able to find him amusing. Maybe he hadn't caused too much damage.

He pushed against the toilet rim as she helped pull him up.

"I'm in no condition for anything," he grumbled, and stumbled slightly, knocking over the mug of tea he'd left on the floor.

"It's okay," she said. "I'll get it later." She moved beneath his arm to help balance him.

"Let's skip the shower and get you to bed."

"That's a better idea," he said. "Your hands can work magic on those strategic pressure points."

"You need to rest."

"I need to be nursed back to health."

"I'll call Nurse Jeffrey."

"That's just mean."

He was teasing, but it was taking what little bit of energy he had left. He didn't know how much longer he could keep up the charade. He only knew it was about to get worse. Much worse.

"Almost there," she said. House winced as he moved, biting back the groan roaring in his chest. Her encouragement was annoying; it felt patronizing. She was completely focused on him: unwavering and doggedly determined to help him through this. He felt like an ass for being so impatient and ungrateful..

Cuddy helped him to the bed. He had discarded his jeans before the nausea had taken over; they'd been constricting, suffocating. Now, wearing just his t-shirt and a pair of boxers, he was beginning to feel a chill. It wouldn't last long. The pain would bring sweats and fever. And hell.

"You need to tie me up."

"Right," she said. "I'll get right on that."

He gripped her wrist tightly, with an urgency that was startling.

"I mean it," he insisted. "It won't be long before I'm spitting out every vicious thought I have."

"I know."

"No, you don't," he argued. Her calm made it clear she really didn't understand. "The fears and hurt are about to come out and play. Every demon from my past will start to torment me, which means I will torment you."

"House, I know," she tried to reassure him. "We'll get through it."

"No, we won't," he yelled.

She startled, but didn't react. "I know you're going to lash out," she calmly said. "I've already thought about…"

"They had to restrain me at Mayfield."

Cuddy froze.

"A 300 pound CNA and three nurses couldn't control me," he said, his eyes fiercely locking with hers. "I don't want to hurt you."

"House…"

"No! I won't hurt you, Cuddy," he pleaded. "I can't. Not again. Not now. Please. Do this...For me."

Cuddy swallowed hard. She hadn't planned on this, hadn't expected it. In retrospect, maybe she should have. He was concerned about hurting her; she was more concerned he'd hurt himself.

With a single nod, Cuddy resigned herself to this new course of action and agreed to his desperate request.

* * *

><p>He was whimpering again.<p>

It had been hours since she'd restrained him. It had taken a couple of hours before the withdrawal became too much and he'd told her it was time. She'd used both their belts for his ankles and the sashes of the two hotel robes for his wrists. He'd watched her, his penetrating stare both reassuring and unsettling, the words left unspoken both calming and worrisome.

He'd fought the pain and anxiety for quite some time before drifting into a frustrated unconsciousness. Since then, he'd been writhing and whimpering off and on, crying out in anguish at times, and at others screaming in angry defense. Her nerves were shattered watching him, trying to soothe him, to keep him as comfortable as possible given the circumstances.

_You'll never break me!_

He'd screamed out in outrage, pulling on the straps and aggressively kicking – or trying to - when she'd attempted to massage his leg. She'd been trying to ease the muscle spasm that left him gasping for air; he'd indignantly fought her, lashing out with a wrath from a distant wrong.

He was wild and delirious, the defense and rage frightening her more than she let on. She couldn't give into her fears. Not now. This time she was with him; this time they were going through it together. There was no time for weakness, no room for doubt.

_Cold. Too cold._

He'd shivered violently when she'd placed an ice pack on his feverish thigh. She could feel the inflammation when she'd touched him and knew it would help.

"It's okay," she'd soothed. "It will help with the pain."

"Can't show it," he'd muttered. "Can't let him know."

"Can't show what, House?" she softly asked.

"Can't let him know." He was barely cognizant, drifting in and out of a dream…or a memory. "Be strong…Can't…No…no…"

She wasn't sure if he was trembling more from the cold or the fear. "It's okay," she'd whispered, covering him with a blanket and running her fingers through his hair. "You're okay."

She was now curled in a chair she'd placed beside the bed, watching him, keeping vigil. His suffering was heartbreaking. His memories seemed to claw at him, tearing the very fabric of his sanity. He searched for reason; he begged for release. The doors to all the dark rooms of his mind had been opened and a war was being raged, a battle for truth and right in the now against the betrayal and lies of the past that still kept him bound and gagged on the inside. He moved from childhood to the infarction back to childhood and then to Amber's death. He'd raged at Stacy and pleaded with his mother. And he'd cried. He'd wept in fear and pain and loss.

She felt so helpless

_Make him stop._

The memory of his words sent a shiver down her spine. She'd known House had some abuse in his background. He'd hinted at it; Wilson had suggested it. She hadn't guessed the root, hadn't understood the severity. He was so broken and suffering. The secrets locked inside him never saw the light of day, and so he never found healing. And there was so much pain he kept hidden, above and beyond what was so easily seen and accept

"It can't," he murmured. "I can't."

She slipped from the chair and reached for him, caressing his face and brow in the way that seemed to sooth him.

He tossed his head back and forth: new waves of memories washing over him. She didn't know how much more he could take. She didn't know how much more SHE could take.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he cried.

"It's okay, House," she said.

"Cuddy," he whispered.

"I'm here."

He arched his neck, turning his head into her touch. "Don't leave me," he whimpered. "Please, don't leave me."

"Shhh," she said. "I'm not leaving."

"I can do better…I'll do better…"

The tears she'd been fighting for too many hours welled in her eyes.

"Don't give up on me…please."

Cuddy sank down in the bed beside him, wrapping her arm around him and draping her leg over his.

"I'm not leaving, House," she said again, kissing his chest and nestling against him. "I'm here."

It was as if the shroud was lifted from him. His body stretched toward her and his chin ran along the top of her head. She felt certain he would have wrapped her in a tight embrace had his hands been free. In seconds she felt his body relax and his mind ease into rest. He couldn't even feel her tears on his skin.

* * *

><p>House slowly opened his eyes as he felt the fog in his brain clearing. The haze of unconsciousness had left a mark. His throat was dry; his eyes were tired and swollen. His chest felt heavy with weight. He felt the ache in his shoulders locking his joints, but his legs had already gone numb.<p>

House moved to shift in the bed, but the restraints were as limiting as the body draped over him. He lifted his head to look down at her.

She was asleep. It was a light sleep. He could see it in the stillness behind her eyes and the control in her jaw. She was on alert, even in rest, ready to jump into action at the first sign of need.

_Need._

It was so inextricably connected with her: this need for her as necessary as air and water. He didn't know what to do with it, how to deal with it. He didn't know how to love her without it.

She rubbed her face along his chest and stretched in that catlike way before slowly looking up at him.

"You're awake."

"So it seems."

"How are you feeling?" she asked, sliding back to get a better look at him.

"Better than you," he said. "You look like crap."

"Thank you." She pretended to glare at him, but he could see the amusement in her eyes.

"Guess it was rough night."

"You can't imagine."

"It's never wise to party with the Children of the Corn."

She met his eyes in a steady stare. "Especially not when they're being exorcised from your chest."

"What can I say? Everyone wants a piece of me." He was watching her intently, studying her for signs of fear and caution. She looked at him with unguarded ease and compassion.

"Think the worst is over?" she asked as she stood and ran her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame it. It was starting to curl. He liked her curls; he liked the untamed looked she possessed first thing in the morning. "Want me to remove the restraints?"

"I'd rather you strip naked and straddle me," his lecherous gaze was both teasing and testing. "Got any feathers? A whip?"

"No, but I've got a camera," she said dryly. "I already took pictures to post around the hospital."

"Wetting myself must have really helped your blackmail plan."

She stepped forward, suddenly quite concerned. "You wet yourself?"

House grinned. "Ejaculation," he corrected. "You do have the power."

She rolled her eyes and turned away from him.

"Hey! I'm teasing."

"I'll be back," she tossed over her shoulder as she left the room. She returned with a bottle of water. He watched as she removed the twist cap and took a couple of swallows as she looked down at him.

"Do I get any?" he asked after a moment.

"Did you want some?"

His eyes narrowed as he glared at her. "Please, Mistress," he said in mock submission. "May I have some water too?"

She reached for one of the straws she'd placed on the night stand earlier in the evening and placed it in the bottle before bringing it to his lips. He felt her grey eyes piercing him as he sipped.

"You wanted me to see you like this," she said. He swallowed harder than he'd intended and coughed. She waited for him to stop before continuing. "That's why your hallucination included me in the detox."

He didn't respond, but he couldn't maintain her stare. She sighed and put the water aside, sitting down on the bed beside him so she could easily reach the restraints.

"I thought it was about this thing between us," she explained. "I've always assumed it was about the sex and your need to be rescued…but it was more than that."

His right wrist was released and he moved his arm and hand around to get the blood moving again.

"You didn't just want to be with me," she pushed. "You wanted me to know you."

"You do know me," he grumbled and reached to untie his left wrist.

"You wanted me to know this part of you."

House didn't answer. After his left wrist was released, he slid toward the bottom of the bed to begin working on his ankles. His moves were quick and nervous.

"It's a little late to run," she said.

"I'm not running." There was a forced calm to his voice.

"Look at me."

"I've got to take a piss."

"House, look at me."

He turned to face her, his blue eyes cold and hard. He was already shutting her out, closing himself off from the uncomfortable emotions, from the unknown.

She touched his cheek and he flinched.

"How old were you when you first started hiding?"

"Don't," he said hoarsely, but his hand moved to cup hers, holding it against his face.

"You learned any sign of weakness would make the punishment worse," she pushed on. "So you locked away your emotions. You've been doing it all your life. You've perfected it."

House stood abruptly, seeking to put some space between them, but he staggered. His legs were weak and he felt light-headed.

Cuddy slipped beneath his arm and held him tight to her side.

"Come on," she said, and helped him to the bathroom. "Do you need my help?"

"No," he answered gruffly and gripped the vanity for balance.

"Are you sure?"

"If you want to hold my dick, just ask," he snapped. "I'm always up for your games, even if it's a urine fantasy…Though that's a little kinky even for me."

Cuddy shook her head in disgust and stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, quietly berating himself for being such an ass. He'd caught the shadow of hurt in her eyes, had glimpsed her disappointment. He didn't know why she bothered with him, why she'd even stuck around. He didn't remember much of what happened over the last few hours. He'd been too out of it. But he had flashes of her caressing him, comforting him, caring for him as no one else could. He didn't deserve her loyalty. He certainly didn't deserve her love.

He moved to the sink, and angrily washed his hands and face. She was right, of course. He wanted her to know him. At least on some subconscious level, he'd wanted to let her in, to let her see the darkness inside him. He wanted to test her, to see if she really could deal with him.

_You're afraid she actually is right for you. You're afraid to take a chance because it's too big a chance. If it doesn't work with her, then maybe there's no one out there._

Wilson's words echoed in his memory. He'd been dealing with those thought and feelings - or trying to deal with them - for so long now. He knew she was right for him. He just wasn't sure he'd ever be right for her. How could he ever be what she needed? What she deserved?

There was a knock on the door and House looked in the mirror at her reflection as she stepped through the door. She placed a can of gingerale and a package of crackers on the vanity top.

"You need to take it slow," she said. "But you should get something in your stomach."

"Thank you," he whispered as she turned to leave.

Cuddy paused at the door, resting her hand against the frame as their eyes met in the mirror.

"I accused you of avoiding pain at all cost."

House blinked, internally shielding himself from the painful memory. Cuddy waited for his stare. She wanted to make sure he heard her, that he saw the sincerity in her words.

"I'm sorry," she said.

House gulped.

"There's never a time you don't feel pain. It was a stupid, selfish thing to say. I know that…and I understand. There's only so much you can take."

She left him reeling from her words and lost in the puzzle of confirmation and discovery.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3: Work**

He watched her sleep. It wasn't anything new. He'd been watching her sleep since that first night she'd shown up at his apartment after the crane collapse. He hadn't believed she was there, that she'd chosen him, that she loved him. And ever since, he'd been dreading the day she would realize her mistake and disappear from his life.

Cuddy moaned and rolled onto her side. Her brow was furrowed and her breathing was irregular: quick and shallow.

House frowned. She'd been in a restless sleep, tossing and turning for the past couple of hours. In complete contrast to the still sleep he'd found her in earlier.

"_Oh," she startled when he slipped into the bed beside her. "I'm sorry. I must have dozed off."_

_He'd taken his time in the bathroom, more than willing to hide out after her declaration._

"_There's never a time you don't feel pain. It was a stupid, selfish thing to say. I know that…_

_and I understand. There's only so much you can take."_

_But look how much she'd been willing to take; how much she continued to take. She was amazing. Throughout this whole ordeal, she'd stood with him. Confronting him, challenging him, comforting him, braving the truth even when it meant admitting she was wrong. She wasn't afraid of making mistakes; she was more afraid of being unable to fix them. _

"_I want this to work," she'd said. _

_Everything she'd done the past three days had proven that. In spite of everything, she was here, putting his needs before her own. _

_Her words echoed in his memory. "You'll choose yourself over everybody else over and over again, because that's just who you are." _

_Not. This. Time._

"_You're exhausted," he said, grabbing her arm as she moved to stand. "You need to rest."_

"_I'm okay."_

"_No, you're not," he insisted. "You're exhausted. You've hardly had any sleep in three days and you're not taking your pain meds on schedule, which means you haven't really broken the pain cycle to even begin to get it under control."_

_Cuddy turned to him, eyes wide and stunned._

"_What?"_

"_When Wilson was here you weren't just pale and emotional from your eavesdropping," he began to logically break it down for her. "You were in pain. You didn't need to talk with the front desk; you'd already made all the arrangements with them. You needed to get somewhere alone – away from me - so you could take the pills and give them time to kick in."_

"_I was hardly eavesdropping," she mumbled. There was no need to deny his logic. They both knew he was right. _

"_How bad is the pain?"_

"_Normal for this type of procedure," she said. "Don't make more of it than there is. I just dozed off while you took your time reinforcing your armor."_

"_I took a shower."_

"_You were hiding."_

_His eyes narrowed as he glared defiantly at her. "And you're not?"_

"_I'm right here," she turned to face him fully. He was lying on his side, propped up by his elbow as he watched her, examined her for clues and proofs. _

"_I'm not running or hiding…or deflecting." Her brow arched and she tilted her head to emphasize the not-so-subtle accusation. "I'm here, House. Give me credit for that at least."_

"_I give you credit for a lot more than that," he said, a hint of guilt battled the respect in his gaze._

_Cuddy felt that familiar electric tingle race down her spine. No one affected her the way he did._

"_You slipped into the bathroom to take a dose that first night, then again in the morning when you went to get the room service delivery. I'm guessing you took at least one dose while I was out of it, maybe even two," he ticked off the details as he watched for her reactions. "When you went to get water after I woke, and…"_

"_Okay," she interrupted. "I get it. What's your point?"_

"_There's no need to hide it," he stated. "I've known all along and haven't made a play to get my fix. And we both know I could have found a way."_

_Cuddy sighed. Yes, he could have manipulated and schemed. _

"_Why didn't you?" she asked. At the peak of detox, he must have been tempted. He must have considered it._

"_You know why."_

"_Do I?"_

_His eyes widened slightly. "You don't?" _

"_I'm not sure I know anything anymore," Cuddy admitted._

_House sat up and slid to the edge of the bed to sit beside her. Cuddy searched his expression as their eyes met. He gave her that penetrating look that transmitted truth and left her weak ,and him exposed and bare. _

"_I want this," he said._

_Cuddy felt her chest tighten. He was repeating her words, and yet she didn't miss the significance of the sentiment. Their relationship was more important to him than a chance to be pain free. His need for her was a stronger drive than his addiction._

_She closed her eyes as his hand gently brushed her hair off her shoulder, away from her face. She felt his fingers slide along her cheek, and when he lifted her chin, she opened her eyes to gaze at him._

"_Cuddy," he sighed. _

_She grasped his wrist, holding his hand against her, swallowing the emotions creeping up her chest and into her throat. _

"_You need to get some sleep," he said huskily._

"_I'm okay," she insisted. "You must be…"_

"_Don't do that!"_

_Cuddy flinched, shocked by the harshness in his voice, a complete contrast to the tenderness a mere seconds before._

"_I'm nauseated, and sore, and I feel like shit," he said. "But the worst part is over. The next few hours will just be the abatement. Piece of cake."_

"_Nothing about detoxing is a piece of cake."_

_His eyes softened at her understanding, but his determination firmed._

"_I need you to rest, Cuddy," he reiterated. "The last thing I need right now is to feel like I'm sucking the life out of you when you should be taking care of yourself."_

"_House…"_

"_You would be further along in your recovery if you hadn't been nursing me," his words were angry and bitter. She knew they were directed more at himself than her._

_Cuddy grimaced and sighed, but decided to relent, for both their sakes._

"_You'll wake me if you need me?"_

"_Yes."_

"_I'm serious, House."_

"_I know," he said. "I will wake you. But more than likely I'll sleep too, or read. Or answer annoying texts from my team."_

_He had a patient. He'd been giving them input even during the detox, but they hadn't been able to provide a correct diagnosis, yet. _

"_You come first, House," she reminded him. "You have to save yourself before you can save the patient."_

"_I can't do anything if I'm worried about you," he pointed out._

_Cuddy flinched._

"_You have made me a worse doctor. And people are gonna die because of that._

_And… you… are totally worth it."_

_Would there ever be a time those words wouldn't sting? Would there come a time when he could balance their relationship with his gift?_

"_I'll be okay for a couple of hours," he continued to bargain with her. "I won't leave the room or bribe a porter or reach into your waist band of your pants to get the bottle you're hiding."_

_Cuddy scowled. Of course he knew where her pills were hidden._

"_I won't promise not to cop a feel while you're sleeping though," he teased. "I'm only human."_

_Cuddy released a half-hearted chuckle and shook her head. "You're a jerk."_

"_I am."_

"_I need to be here for you," she said. "I need you to promise to wake me if you get sick again."_

"_You'll sleep then?"_

"_Yes."_

"_I promise."_

"_Look at me when you say it."_

_House released an exaggerated sigh. "I promise I will wake you if I'm puking, feverish, in pain, weepy, whiney, or ready to cop that feel."_

House jumped as Cuddy cried out his name. House stood immediately and moved onto the bed to lie beside her. He'd been able to soothe her earlier by simply holding her hand. Now, as he adjusted the blanket he'd placed over her, he pulled her into his embrace.

"Please," she mumbled, crying lightly.

"It's okay," he whispered.

"House." Cuddy moaned and drew closer to him, snuggling into his chest.

"I'm here."

"House," she mumbled against his shirt.

House wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly to him.

"I'm here," he said again, stronger this time.

Cuddy jolted, blinking rapidly as she tried to clear the fog in her brain and focus on him.

"You were dreaming," he explained.

More like a nightmare.

Cuddy pulled away from him, running her hand over her face and through her hair. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Almost four hours."

Her eyes widened. "You're kidding."

"Hardly," he said. "But it was a restless sleep."

She sat up and swung her legs to the side of the bed. "What time is it?"

"What were you dreaming about?" He ignored her question.

"I don't remember," she shrugged.

She was lying. She didn't look at him as she stood and reached for the bottle of water on the side table.

"You were calling my name."

"Did I keep you awake?" she asked, concerned.

"What were you dreaming about?"

"You, obviously," she snapped. "If I was calling your name, that would seem to be the logical conclusion."

He ignored her sarcasm. "What about me?"

"I don't remember."

"You don't want to remember," he pushed. "How long have you been having nightmares?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "All my life," she said. "Everyone has nightmares at one time or another."

"You've been having nightmares since you found the blood in your urine," he said. "They haven't stopped."

"No, they haven't," she answered through clenched teeth. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You need to talk about it."

"I'm not going to talk about it."

"At least not with me," he concluded. She noted the shadow sliding over his eyes.

"Don't do this," she sighed in frustration.

"Fine."

House stood and jerked his cane from where it was propped at the bedside table.

"What does it matter?" she said, her voice filled with frustration. "They're just dreams."

"They are not just dreams," he turned to face her. "They are your fears."

"Yes," she said. "They are fears and dreams. They're not real. And they don't mean anything."

"They mean everything."

"Why?" she sneered. "Because it's a good distraction for you? Some new puzzle you can obsess over so you don't have to deal with your own miserable fears?"

"Because your fears are my fears!" he snapped back. "They are about me, or about us – I'm not sure – but the fact you won't tell me means they will reveal something you don't want me to know because one, it would leave you exposed in some way and you're not about to give up any control right now; or two, you think I'm too fragile and pathetic to handle it; or three, you think I'm too volatile for you to trust with your fears. Either way, it leads to the same conclusion. You are locking me out. You say you want me to be there for you, but you don't trust me to be there. Especially not now, when I've proven to be such a failure and…"

"I dream of dying," she snapped. House froze, his body tense and waiting. "Is that what you want to hear?"

She took a step toward him, her fists clenched at her sides and her eyes blazing.

"I dream that I'm dying and I'm alone," she said, pausing only a moment to see the understanding come over his expression before continuing. "And my daughter is alone and is growing up to not even know who I am or what I'm about, because the one person in this world who really knows me and that I would trust to pass on a real picture of who I am can barely tolerate being in a room with her unless he gets something from it. And I feel this sense of desperation and need that keeps pulling at me, and I can't fight it. I don't even want to, until I can't breathe and I realize I'm losing consciousness and in the end nothing I've done or felt or _been_ has mattered at all."

House gulped, feeling the tightening in his neck and chest.

"I had a death scare," she said more softly, trying to reign in her emotions and not take it out on him. He was going through enough. "Nightmares and fears are to be expected. It's no big deal."

"And yet you feel the need to keep it a secret."

She groaned. "Why are you making such a big thing of this?"

"Why are you?"

"I'm not the one pushing this!"

"No," he agreed. "You're the one pretending it isn't important."

"House, stop."

"You said it yourself, there are so many things you could be afraid of, and most of the time you manage to lock them up behind doors. But then something happens and all those doors just burst open.

Sometimes she hated how he remembered everything she said, especially when he used it against her later.

"Your fears are slipping into your dreams. If you don't deal with them, they'll destroy your reality."

"Deal with them?" she was incredulous. "You're telling me to face my fears? After you ran away from yours? After you buried them in a Vicodin bottle and a brothel of hookers?"

House shifted uncomfortably.

"I am facing my fears," she bit out. "I'm standing here with my biggest fear right now because my fears are mixed in with my greatest needs and desires. So don't stand there and judge me for the way I'm handling it. You're a lot of things, House, but you're not a hypocrite. Don't be one now."

Cuddy stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

><p>Cuddy awkwardly stepped through the door, wringing her hands nervously as she approached him.<p>

He was sitting in the chair in the corner of the room, his long legs bent at the knee and his open hands resting on the wooden arms of the chair. To a casual observer, he would appear relaxed and at ease, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the rigidity in his thighs, the tautness of his jaw. The calm he presented was forced, and it only increased the intensity of the apprehension that had been building as she'd holed herself away in the bathroom.

"I never wanted to be a father." He hadn't acknowledged her presence, but he was very away of her presence, attuned to her every move even as he stared blankly at the empty space on the way. "I never even considered it until you started looking into invitro."

Cuddy paused, holding her breath as she examined his expression, evaluated his tone. She searched for a clue or a sign that would explain this frank admission.

"I mean, it's pretty obvious I'm not father material," he said. "I'm not even uncle material."

She felt the fire of defense ignite within her, in complete contrast to the cold that turned his blue eyes to ice.

"Which is probably a good thing," he mumbled. "I never want to be like him. I never want to…"

House abruptly shook his head as if clearing his thoughts before saying. "I'd never do that to a kid."

_No, he wouldn't._

Cuddy may not know the details of what he endured as a child, but she knew without a doubt he would never cause the kind of painful memories that seemed to torment him.

House looked at her then, the chill instantly dissipating as he gazed into the stormy grey that grounded him.

"I wanted you to ask me," he confessed. "I kept finding problems with all the donors you selected so you'd give up and ask me."

Cuddy felt her stomach plummet at his uncharacteristic admission, and her heart began to race. She stared at him, surprised and curious.

House answered with a shrug, giving her a shy, ironic grin. "I figured you'd be connected to me forever if your spawn had my genes."

She felt dizzy, exhilarated by the deeper meaning of his words, and nauseated by the lost opportunity.

He stared at her. The air around them grew heavy and dense.

"You never asked." Simple words with intense sadness.

Cuddy held back the tears. She'd wanted to ask him; she'd come so close. But then she'd chickened out. She'd been afraid of losing him.

"I even came up with a plan to switch out the vials," he admitted. Her eyes widened. "But I didn't get the chance."

_He was shot._

"I was shot," he voiced her thought. "And when the Ketamine worked, I had this idea we could…we might…"

Cuddy had to sit down. It was too much to process, too much to take in.

"Then it all went to shit," he looked away, the memory a shadow over his eyes. "I went back to being a cripple and you were already pregnant."

"_Looks to me like those puppies are going into the dairy business," House blatantly stared at her cleavage._

_"The pain can be good," she ignored his comment and patiently tried to reason with him. "It could be muscle regenerating. After you work out, you get sore. Pain doesn't mean the Ketamine failed."_

_"Guess I should be saying 'mazel tov.' Who gets to pass out the cigars?"_

_"I'm not pregnant," Cuddy said in exasperation. "I need to get a PET scan of your brain."_

_"Boy or girl? You got a name picked out?"_

_"I'm not pregnant!" She would have been yelling had the words not been filtered through clenched teeth._

_"My leg doesn't hurt," House sighed. She knew he was lying._

_"You're in denial!" She needed him to admit it, to fight it._

"_No, I'm not!" His tone was flippant. "Oh, you got me."_

_Cuddy deflated and stared at him, concerned; his expression softened as he reassured her: "If I thought my leg was deteriorating, don't you think I'd want to take steps to prevent that?"_

He hadn't told her it was deteriorating. Cuddy remembered. She'd been so upset he hadn't taken steps to prevent it.

"You never told me you were pregnant." There was a hint of bitterness in his tone. "You didn't tell me when you miscarried."

He looked down at his hands, tracing the movement of his right thumb moving along the nail of his left. "I found out from Wilson."

But she'd only told Wilson after…

"Just like when you decided to adopt."

Cuddy braced her hands on the bed on each side of her. So many years of denied hopes and unresolved emotions now ripped through her with the force of a tornado. She thought the room was spinning.

"I knew she'd tear you away from me."

His words bounced off the walls of her mind, an echo that drowned out every other argument and thought.

"She's not a connection," he said. "She's a reminder of all the reasons you shouldn't be with me."

He was so transparent and unguarded, defeated and resolved.

Cuddy felt the weight of his words, could feel the black hole of pain that silently sucked the air from the room. She could clearly see the battle being waged inside him, years of silent helplessness and defeat, of disappointment and loss. She could see the little boy hungry for acceptance; the teenager desperate for respect. She watched as the man continued to discount all hope for connection and would-be normalcy, hiding behind a misanthropy that was both pretense and reality. She began to understand the great threat he perceived in her little girl, and how he believed he was protecting her as much as himself.

_Oh, House._

How many years had he suppressed his deepest desires, believing he was undeserving and unworthy? How many years had he denied his feelings for fear of abandonment…or shame? How often did he try to protect others at the expense of his heart?

Cuddy stood from where she was seated on the bed and moved to stand in front of him.

House looked up at her, puzzled by the warmth in her gaze and her gentle touch as she ran her hand along his cheek.

"I thought asking you to be the donor would put an even bigger wedge between us," she softly said, her eyes following the path of her fingers. "I was afraid it would give you another excuse to run away from whatever was between us, or what could be between us."

Cuddy gripped his shoulder and slipped onto his lap, careful to adjust her legs along the arm of the chair so her weight wasn't on his bad leg. "I knew I'd rather have a chance with you than just have your sperm," she whispered as she curled up against him.

House wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to rest his chin against her head as he considered how often fear had impacted their lives, their relationship. How is affected them even now. Especially now.

"I chose you," Cuddy whispered against his neck. "I always choose you."

* * *

><p>His fingers traced the curve of her hip and slid softly down her thigh. She didn't know how long she'd been curled in his lap, relishing the tenderness of his caress, the heat of his breath against her, the incomprehensible peace she felt in his embrace. There was an undeniable power that formed when they were together and in sync, an energy that would be transformational if they could only contain it. But that would mean acting outside of their baggage and fears.<p>

"I can do better," House broke the silence with the phrase that had once been encouraging, but had become a reflection of their failure.

"I don't need you to do better," she said. "I just need you to be."

She shifted to look at him, her face so close their lips were almost touching. "Be who you are," she whispered. "Be…with me."

It was impossible to say who moved first, but their lips touched, brushing as light as a whisper.

His hand stilled on her thigh; her hand gripped his bicep. He leaned into her; she nipped his lower lip. House closed his eyes, savoring the sublime sensation that was always as exciting as the first time. He felt the heat of her breath, the rhythm of her pulse, the weight of her body…It was intoxicating.

Cuddy gasped when his mouth captured hers, drawing her into a hungry kiss. His tongue plundered and explored; hers responded in kind, seeking equal opportunity to taste and receive. She was everything he wanted, everything he desired, and in that moment all he wanted was to possess her.

His hand cupped her rear, moving her in his lap. She could feel the intensity in his touch, taste the need on his tongue, hear the desire in the sound emanating from deep within his throat. She could feel the shift in his jeans, and…

She pulled away.

The anxiety that washed over her left her panicked. She didn't understand it. The apprehension took over so quickly, she didn't even consciously think about it before jumping off his lap and pacing to the other side of the room.

"We should get out of here," she said, looking around the room nervously. "You're through the worst part of the detox. There's no reason we should stay locked up in here."

_Locked up. _

She felt trapped with him. Ready to escape.

His face hardened, unwilling to reveal the level of pain he felt at her sudden rejection.

"We can find you a support group and see about getting you a sponsor," she continued as she started to gather their things. "It doesn't have to be at the hospital. We can…"

"_We_ don't have to do anything," he said. "I already called Nolan."

Cuddy turned to face him then, startled by his angry tone and surprised at his words.

"I called him while you were sleeping," he explained, gripping his thigh as he awkwardly stood. "I'm sure I can handle it alone. He's probably got people waiting at my apartment already."

House picked up the bag Wilson had brought and tossed it onto the bed. He would follow her lead. If she wanted to get away from him, fine. He'd give her space.

Cuddy frowned. "You're going back to your apartment?"

"Where else would I go?" he snapped. "Back to Mayfield?"

He was tossing things onto the bed, obviously angry, when his phone rang.

"What?" he barked. Her heart skipped a beat and she watched him.

He was pacing, focused on what they were saying, but his anger was palpable.

She didn't hear what he was saying; she was too busy working on her own DDX. Not that it took much thought to solve this puzzle. Now that her heart had stopped beating in her head, and the fight-or-flight feelings had passed, she was pretty clear on what he might be thinking.

She'd rejected him. Not really. Well, not intentionally. She hadn't even thought about it at the time, but it was pretty clear he had. The detox had left him more sensitive and he was feeling the rejection more intensely than he usually would. That was why he was suddenly so angry when only minutes before they were kissing.

"I need to go to the hospital," he said, tossing his phone into the bag. "You do what you need to do. I'll be fine."

Cuddy reached out to touch his arm before he could turn away from her again.

"I was hoping you were coming home with me." Her voice was soft and uncertain.

House turned abruptly, clearly stunned.

"I know you're not up to dealing with Rachel," she said. "You're still dealing with some of the symptoms of the detox. But I can keep her busy so you can…"

"You want me with you?"

Cuddy stared at him, understanding why he'd question it in the moment, but frustrated that he could be so quickly doubt her.

"Why wouldn't I?" she asked. "I thought we were going to make this work."

_Make this work. _Not see if it will work. Make it work.

His chin dropped to his chest and he released a sigh of relief.

"I'm sorry," she said, taking his hand and silently pleading with him to understand. "I don't know what happened. It's not that I don't want to be with you. Obviously I do. It just felt a little overwhelming and I…"

"Just had surgery and don't feel up to some jackass jumping your bones."

He'd already figured that out and was angry at himself for not understanding in the first place.

Cuddy grinned. "That's not what I was going to say."

"Doesn't mean I'm wrong."

"Doesn't mean you're right."

"I'm always right," he said.

When Cuddy arched a brow at him, he added: "Eventually."

They stared at each other fondly.

"You'll come home?" she asked expectantly. "With me?"

_Home._

He smiled at her and nodded. Cuddy stretched up and kissed him.

"Good."

Her moves were lighter as she started packing things into the bag.

"We do need to stop by the hospital though," House said from behind her. "I need to blow up a guy's heart."

Cuddy whirled around and frowned at him.

"What?"

"I think the guy has a Bartonella infection, which caused a mycotic aneurysm in your aortic wall," House explained. "We need to find it, which means we need to blow up his heart."

"You are not going to blow up his heart," Cuddy said.

"You'd rather he die?"

"I'd rather you not kill him!" she snapped. "Are you out of your mind? You can't possibly think I would approve that procedure."

House rolled his eyes, but inside he felt calm. This argument would continue all the way to the hospital, but in the end, she'd agree to his plan as long as he met some of her demands. That's how they worked.

He was happy they still worked.


End file.
